


The Carpenter's Gift

by TottWriter



Series: Soul Animals Verse [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Also Daichi's soulmate is not an OC, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Friendship, It's not angsty I swear!, M/M, Romance, Soulmates, just putting that out there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 14:31:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12483800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TottWriter/pseuds/TottWriter
Summary: The old songs tell of how the gods created soul animals in order that people could find true love. There are many different kinds; each creature representing the connection between soulmates. So it's something of a bittersweet moment when Daichi meets his soul animal for the first time, and realises what fate has in store for him. For while many of the greatest love stories feature soulmates united by the pegasus, so do almost all the great tragedies.The best thing then, Daichi reasons, is not to worry about love at all.





	The Carpenter's Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bmmq](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bmmq/gifts).



> This fic was written as part of the Haikyuu Fantasy/Myth Exchange 2017, and is a gift for [bmmq](https://bringmemyqueen.tumblr.com/)! It got a little bit...okay rather a _lot_ longer than I had at first planned, but oh well. I'm excited to be able to share it at last!

_Oh in ages gone by, when the world was still young,_  
_When the stories of old were new tales to be sung._  
_Mortal hearts they did pine, for the love none could find,  
_ _And they prayed to on high that something would be done._

  _And the gods they looked down, at the chaos beneath,_  
_And they saw Men spoke true when they spoke of their grief._  
_Oh the gods they wept tears that for all of these years,  
__Why the end of Man’s fears had been so out of reach._

  _So they plotted and planned, and they shaped things anew,_  
_And they gave to us creatures that were loyal and true._  
_For each soul has a match, which true love longs to catch  
__And they help us to latch with our soulmates, they do._

  _ ~ From ‘_ [ _Love’s a Loyal Creature_ ](https://www.dropbox.com/s/lm33sqv55a23svt/Love%27s%20A%20Loyal%20Creature%20-%20Vocals.mp3?dl=0) _ ’. Traditional. _

 

* * *

 

The first time Daichi sees his soul animal, he can’t help but feel that it doesn’t especially count. All he _actually_ sees is a blur of feathers and limbs, racing away in the pre-dawn air.

By the time he’s rubbed the sleep from his eyes, the only thing which remains as proof of its existence are the scattered blooms outside his window, and four hoofprints on the grass. Despite the early hour—it’s _too_ early, really it is—he makes sure to go out and collect up each and every one, even putting the stray petals in a bowl. They carry a gentle, fragrant scent, and he’s never seen their like anywhere else.

At day’s end they have started to wilt and fade, but Daichi takes the largest and the smallest and presses them between two planks of wood so that he’ll always have them as a keepsake. Tokens are important, he knows that, and although the flowers are too impermanent (and too many) for him to preserve each and every one of them, it would be a crime not to keep a memento of the gift his soul mate must have sent.

The stories say that your soul animal visits every day or night, but it’s actually a few weeks before Daichi sees it in the flesh. It’s not that he’s a late riser—he certainly wakes earlier than Suga does, the lazy lout—but even for him, dawn is a bit of a stretch. In high summer, when the first light creeps over the horizon before the fifth bell, it’s never going to be easy for him to catch it in the act.

The hoofprints give him a good idea what animal he has, though. It’s both an honour and a curse by all accounts—but that’s okay. He’s never particularly had much time for romance. It’s enough to know that there’s someone out there willing to send a gift at all.

Of course, a token needs to go both ways, really. It’s a problem which he finds himself mulling over day after day, as the season winds its way to Midsummer. The bunting goes up around the village, and the sound of children trying to master their songs and lines filters in through the open windows of his workshop, mixing with the thump and clack of the lathe, or the rhythmic thwack of his mallet striking the chisels as he works his way to completing his latest commission - a table for the mayor himself.

He’s always felt at home with wood. The smell and the feel of it; the warmth of the grain and the silky smooth finish he can give something which started out so rough. Much as people marvel at the miracles which are soul animals, there’s a _real_ magic in taking a tree, hewing it with axes, and then shaping the bole from a cylinder into something else entirely. Suga has always remarked that he would hate to have been lumbered with a family business so young the way Daichi has, but it’s never seemed an obligation to him at all.

 _Ah_ , he thinks, as he rubs beeswax into the finished table. _I should send a carving._

A few days later he sets a small wooden camellia bloom on his windowsill before going to bed. It’s not much by way of a token, but seeing as his soulmate sent flowers he feels on safer ground following their lead. It should suffice as an oddity, at least. The sort of curiosity the likes of Yachi would gather on shelves around her cottage. Before she set out on her mysterious, out of character, and very sudden pilgrimage to the north, that is.

 

* * *

 

It shouldn’t really be a surprise when he’s woken just before dawn by the sound of whinnying. Blearily, he scrambles out of bed and rushes over to the window to see a horse stood outside; wide, white wings spread to catch the first rays of sunlight.

All the same he finds himself staring, open-mouthed. Time stops for a few minutes as he drinks in the sight of it stood in his garden. There’s a silvery-gold sheen to the wingtips which glints in the dawn light. It’s breathtaking in its beauty, and Daichi can’t help but be smitten. A pegasus. Not the rarest of soul animals, but certainly remarkable all the same.

He’s still too dazed to do anything other than take a few steps back as it shakes its mane, and walks over to the window. It bows its head once, before gently taking the wooden flower between its teeth. Daichi just about manages to smile as it bunches its wings and leaps into the air.

 _Distant love,_ he thinks as it soars away, recalling old rote lessons in the village hall. _With those wings, it carries gifts to places far, far away._

 

* * *

 

Most people would be disappointed to wake to such a message. Daichi knows this. Suga has already expressed his sympathies over several bottles of sake, commiserating him and pointing out that they’re sure to meet _someday_ . It would probably mean more if Suga hadn’t met his soulmate when he was all of fifteen years old…but even so, Daichi doesn’t especially mind. As he’s said before—as he’ll say again—there are worse things in life. And it’s not as though he’s _really_ alone. Not with so many good friends surrounding him.

He’s busy, too, with work and other obligations in the village. People _need_ him. Besides, much as love is a wonder by all accounts, it seems to bring as much trouble as it does joy. He’s lost count, for instance, of the number of times Suga has stopped by his workshop to complain about missing his fiance, or that the sea is too rough for his soul animal to visit. Having a sailor for a soulmate seems just as troublesome as having one he might never get to meet.

“It’s going to be _weeks_ before his boat docks, Daichi,” Suga whines, draping himself across a workbench. He picks up a lump of wood abandoned there and starts fiddling with it, brushing off the sawdust.

“Oi. Move,” Daichi says, unimpressed. “I need that space.”

He might have found it within himself to show a little more sympathy, but in all honesty Suga invades his workshop at _least_ three times a week to bemoan his fate. And anyway, his soulmate’s boat only left the previous day. As far as Daichi sees it, they haven’t been parted long enough to actually miss each other yet. Not to mention the fact Suga has an annoying habit of draping himself exactly where Daichi is about to work, as though he were a cat and not a _fully grown man._

“You’re so cruel, Daichi,” Suga mutters, standing back up. He looks down at his clothes and grimaces. “ _Daichi_ , don’t you ever clean this place! Look at my shirt now!”

Daichi folds his arms. “This is my _work_ shop, Suga. Note the word ‘work’. You wander into a carpenter’s shop, you’d better expect sawdust and wood shavings. And if you don’t like it, you _could_ always go and bother someone else.”

Naturally Suga, rather than take the hint, decides to drape himself over Daichi’s shoulders instead. He holds out the lump of wood. Now that he can see it fully, Daichi recognises it as the aborted carving he’d started the day he’d seen his soul animal.

“What’s this?” Suga asks. “It’s quite good you know.”

Daichi sighs, wrinkling his nose with distaste. “It’s not, not really. I messed up the proportions, so there was no point carrying on with it.”

“Yes, but what was it _supposed_ to be?”

“A pegasus,” Daichi says, sighing again. “But I’ve only actually _seen_ it the once. I’d need to see it again and make some sketches to get it right, I think. There’s no way I’ll be able to manage it from memory alone.”

Suga frowns, disentangling himself from Daichi and turning the unfinished carving over in his hands. He blows on it gently, sending a flurry of sawdust flying, and then looks up. “So what are you gonna do with it?”

“It’s scrap,” Daichi replies, shrugging. Now that he’s looking at it after a day or two’s break, it seems even worse than when he’d tossed it aside. “Kindling, shavings, who knows.”

“Daichi!” Suga cries, clutching it to his chest. “You can’t do that! It’s a _pegasus!_ How can you burn it?”

Daichi raises an eyebrow. “Suga, you had no idea what it was until I _told_ you,” he says flatly. “If I’m that far off, I’m sure I’m not going to offend any magical or spiritual entities by ditching it. Hand it over.”

It’s not particularly a surprise when Suga refuses, insisting that he has to save Daichi from cursing himself to misfortune by taking it away. He’s always been a little like that. Superstitious enough that it’s almost a wonder he hasn’t turned sailor too.

But the conversation sticks in his mind, or at least the a fragment of it does: sketches, to better remember his soul animal’s proportions. That’s probably the way to go. He doesn’t know how long it will be before the pegasus visits again, but he won’t come to any lasting harm by adjusting his schedule so that he wakes just before the dawn from now on. Better to get an early start to the day, anyway.

And sure enough, when he wakes the pegasus stands outside on the grassy meadow, wings spread wide. Blossoms tumble from its mouth as it looks up, startled, and whinnies at him. It shakes its head as though disgruntled, and then shudders from ear to tail. Dew cascades from its back. Daichi is too awestruck to reach for the paper and pencil he’d left ready the night before.

It nods at him once, twice, and then raises its wings to catch the first rays of the day as the sun makes its appearance. The wings push down and the pegasus leaps upward. It takes to the skies in a blur of feathers, circling ever higher until it’s just a tiny golden speck. Daichi’s neck aches long before he gives in to the urge to look down again. He wonders, for the first time, where the pegasus actually _goes_. Where it’s come from. Where the flowers now adorning the meadow outside grew.

He rubs the last of the sleep from his eyes and massages the ache from his neck, then looks them over. Huh. Perhaps he’d settle for knowing what those flowers actually _are_. He’s certainly never seen their like anywhere else.

 

* * *

 

Daichi remembers his sketchbook after gathering up the mysterious blooms and settling them into a vase on his table. He sighs, and although it’s not the same as drawing from life, marks out some rough shapes on the paper. It doesn’t do the creature justice of course—how could it?— but it’s a better reference than nothing. He got a good look at the wings, after all. They sprout from just above its front legs, rather than halfway along its back as the traditional pictures show. He’d used those old woodcuts for reference with his carving, but apparently they’re going to be less help than he’d hoped.

Huh. Maybe he’s going about this wrong. Maybe he could shortcut by sketching _horses_ during the day, and focus on getting the wings right when he can actually see them.

The idea is a good one, but his resolve only lasts a few days before he finds himself idly whittling at an offcut, shaping out a horse with two extra appendages. The proportions are a little better this time, but it still isn’t right. In honour of Suga though, he makes sure he finishes the piece, sanding it down and giving it a coat of beeswax. Tidied up it doesn’t look _so_ bad.

It sits on his workbench after that, tucked in the corner where no one ever looks. Only a little thing, about the size of his palm, but it holds the feeling of his soul animal, even if it’s not a perfect replica.

That should settle it, really. He’s got a little copy to keep him company, and remind him that there’s a someone out there, somewhere. Someone who sends him flowers, despite knowing nothing about him. Someone who has sent him _more_ flowers, each and every day since the pegasus took that little wooden bloom.

He wonders, perhaps, if the pegasus would carry something more substantial back.

 

* * *

 

Daichi has a lot of work to do. It’s nearing autumn, which means the weather has finally eased off its heat enough to let a general round of repairs start. There are warped doors to be replaced, and a multitude of draughty windows and other such things to patch up before the winter’s chill sets in. Then, too, there are repairs to a fishing boat caught in a summer storm, for which he needs to supply the planks and pegs. It’s hard labour, and long hours which he has to spend doing it.

He wonders what it would be like if he lived in one of the big towns, where carpenters have apprentices. What it would be like if it weren’t just him, all alone in his small workshop, with more than a hundred people relying on him to be there when he’s needed. Briefly, he considers taking on one of the boys in the village for help, before coming to the conclusion that this will mean _more_ work, not less. The current crop of potential apprentices is limited, and range from lethargic and uninterested in his discipline, to passionate but… _overly enthusiastic._

The work drags on as the days grow shorter, and Daichi finds it increasingly difficult to wake before dawn. Still, he manages to catch a glimpse of the pegasus most days, then gathers up the flowers it almost always brings. They sit in vases around his workshop for a touch of colour while he works. By the end of the day they’re mostly coated in sawdust—but by then they’re usually wilted anyway, and at least he’s had the pleasure of looking at them.

He finds himself whittling at offcuts while he eats his lunch, or waits for the iron kettle to boil the water for his tea. Wood shavings and chippings follow him home, as do the little offcuts he practises forms with. Slowly but surely he builds a collection of winged horses which gather on the shelves in his cottage.

It’s fully autumn before the sunrise comes late enough that he wakes before the pegasus takes to the air. Over a month of waiting to see gilt-edged wings outside his window, catching the morning’s first true light. The day he wakes to see his soul animal still waiting on the lawn, and not just a blur in the sky, he smiles more deeply than he can remember in a long time. He’s readier now, and doesn’t startle the creature into flight with his appearance.

Daichi’s house has only one floor, and although he’s a skilled craftsman, he certainly doesn’t earn enough for there to be glass in the windows. He draws back the carved screen carefully, and pulls himself onto the windowsill; slowly, methodically lifting his legs over the wood. The pegasus watches him carefully, taking a small step back.

He nods, understanding, and pulls back. This is as far as he goes.

The sun crests the eastern hills and the pegasus raises its head. The wings—white until the sunlight turns them gold—lift and spread. The pegasus turns so that Daichi gets a clear view of them before taking to the sky this time, and he’s showered with dew as it leaps up, catching the air. He’s buffeted by the downdraught too, and has to cling to the window frame to avoid tumbling back inside.

As the pegasus soars into the air, Daichi swears its whinny sounds like laughter.

 

* * *

 

Daichi is sure that Suga must have noticed the collection of horses crowding Daichi’s house—especially now that they’re starting to spill over into his workshop too—but after rescuing his first, failed attempt he hasn’t said anything about them at all. It’s unusual for Suga to stay so quiet on a subject. Oddly tactful too, when normally he is unafraid to be blunt and to the point. He’s the man who cheerfully bullied Asahi into the relationship with his soulmate that he’d been too nervous to start, after all (a success which he had crowed about for months). That he’s dropped the matter is highly suspicious, and Daichi spends much of their time together waiting for the inevitable.

“Daichi,” Suga says one evening as the sleet falls outside, swirling snow and rain in a manner which would be a lot prettier if it weren’t so dratted _cold_ . He’d picked up a half-finished carving as soon as he’d entered the shop, and has been holding onto it while Daichi works through a particularly fiddly bit of work. “Daichi, you’re _pining_.”

The reason for Suga’s obscenely broad grin doesn’t register until Daichi notices what _kind_ of wood Suga’s been cheerfully holding onto for the last ten minutes.

“Get out,” he says flatly, laying down his plane. “Get out right now and don’t come back.”

Suga cackles. “Oh come _on_ , you expected me to hold that one in forever?” he says, laying down the wooden pegasus. “I’ve been waiting _so long_ to say it!”

Daichi can’t quite hide a grin as he answers: “Is there a _reason_ you picked tonight to break your admirable streak of restraint?”

The reply is a shrug. “I guess I’ve just been waiting for you to tell me how all these carvings fit into your plan,” he says. “Because I know you’ve got one. You have to. You’re going to send them one, right? It’s…honestly Daichi, it’s exactly the sort of disgustingly sentimental thing I always knew you were capable of, deep down.” He rubs an imaginary tear out of his eye.

Daichi raises an eyebrow, and nods towards the window. “I _can_ make you leave,” he says. “You know perfectly well how easy it would be.”

Suga reaches over and thumps his shoulder. “But you love me too much for that,” he says cheerfully. “One of these days you’re going to have to accept that I’m a taken man.”

“Taken far away, I hope,” Daichi mutters, but he doesn’t bother to hide his grin.

He’s waiting for Suga to squawk a protest or laugh, but instead, when he looks up his best friend is wearing an all too familiar look on his face. The sort of excessively serious, brows-furrowed, hand-stroking-his-chin expression which always accompanies Ideas.

“Suga…” Daichi says, folding his arms. “Whatever it is, the answer is going to be no.”

“I was just thinking,” Suga replies. “I keep staying behind, but if I went to sea as well next time, maybe I could look for your soulmate for you. Seeing as apparently you’re too busy to even consider anything along those lines. I mean they’ve got to be out there _somewhere_.”

“Oh, you will, will you?” Daichi says, leaning back against the workbench. “How exactly do you figure that’s going to work? You’re just going to roll up to the docks and they’ll have a sign out, saying ‘Hi, I’m Daichi’s soulmate’, with their bags packed and ready to go? And what’s got you thinking I need someone to go looking in the first place?”

“Come on Daichi, aren’t you even a little bit curious? And you never leave the village except to go to the big markets, so when exactly are you going to find them, eh?” Suga picks up another wooden pegasus, this one painted with a layer of whitewash.

“Suga, what will be will be,” Daichi says, walking over and plucking the carving from his hand. “I don’t need you to fret about it for me.” He smiles crookedly. “Besides. Don’t you worry that I’d get into bad habits if you weren’t here to perpetually nag me?”

“Ahh, unfair!” Suga whines, but the smile on his face more than gives away his true feelings. He points at the pegasus in Daichi’s hand. “I like that one.”

Daichi sighs. “You’re not getting any more of these things,” he says, frowning critically at the little statuette. “Besides, the colour doesn’t look right. I’ll…I’ll find somewhere to put them. It. I’m not painting any more after seeing how this one turned out.”

“Shame,” Suga remarks, propping his chin on one hand. “It looks pretty good, Daichi.”

“Well, I’m not going to deny that I guess. I do have _some_ pride in my own work,” Daichi replies. “But ‘pretty good’ isn’t what I’m going for.”

Maybe if he could gilt the feathers? But to really capture the effect the statue would have to be _much_ larger—

“Daichi,” Suga says, suddenly serious. “Please don’t tell me you think you have to make a perfect sculpture of your soul animal before you can seek out your soulmate. This isn’t a trial, you know.”

Daichi looks up, raising his eyebrows. “Whatever gave you _that_ idea?” he says, setting the white pegasus down. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just…it’s more like a hobby, really. Something creative to turn to after my regular work’s finished. I honestly don’t think about my soulmate that much, you know.”

“Oh really,” Suga replies, apparently unmoved. He raises an eyebrow as he glances around the workshop. “It certainly looks that way, for sure.”

 

* * *

 

Daichi has a soft spot for winter. The first snows fall a month after the equinox, light and gentle. Just enough to dust the world with a fine powder which will be gone by midday. The pegasus huffs in the chill morning air, bowing its head as Daichi watches from his window. When it takes off, leaving frosted blooms on the meadow beneath his window, the rain of dew melts a reverse constellation all over his garden. Daichi turns to the whitewashed statuette which has somehow found a place on the shelf near his bed. Now there’s an idea.

It seems wrong to sell the statuettes he’s been carving—pegasi are rare soul animals, after all. They shouldn’t be sold as trinkets to every passing traveller who takes an interest. Even Suga’s hippocampus is more common, and they can only be found in areas which border the sea. Suga has invited him along to meet it once or twice—the oceanbound horses are not tied to dawn visits as his own soul animal seems to be. As lunar animals, the tides are what rules them.

But if Daichi wants to realise the image in his head, he has to practice techniques somehow. And there’s also the summer market to look forward to. Regular horses would be okay to sell there, he thinks, although he can’t help but add wings to some of the creatures as he’s carving them, setting the figures to one side each time he forgets to stop at a horse’s smooth back.

By Midwinter, Daichi has a line of new pegasi in his workshop, and a herd of miniature horses which he has sanded to perfection over long, empty nights. Some are decorated with fine mists of whitewash and ink, highlighting their flanks and darkening the manes, while others are wood alone, polished with beeswax or linseed oil.

The interest is enough that a few of the horses end up being sold to other villagers, and he can’t help but make a few other animals for variety’s sake, but time and again the wood in his hands turns to a familiar shape if his concentration wanders while he works. Pegasi can be found in every room of his house; some with their wings tucked neatly to their sides, others in mid-flight.

He stands one of the latter on the dresser in his bedroom, and sometimes catches himself nodding a ‘goodnight’ at it before he goes to sleep. Still, that’s probably just because, in the gloom of candlelight by which he goes to bed each night, there’s a lifelike quality to the shadows it casts. It’s nothing more.

 

* * *

 

Despite Suga’s repeated implications to the contrary, Daichi is not a fool. He knows that his soulmate is out there somewhere, sending flowers to him each and every day almost without fail. He knows that aside from the little wooden camellia flower—barely more than a token to prove his existence—he’s yet to send anything in return. Whoever it is must have a pretty low opinion of him by now. It’s been long enough, after all. Most other people would have sent at least _something_ else.

He probably doesn’t even have the excuse of the pegasus being too wary around him any more, either. It’s been months since that time he tried to approach, and he’s left out a bowl of oats each day since. If he really wanted to, it would probably let him stand beside it. It would probably carry a message of thanks, or a return gift.

But what could he give? The flowers his soulmate sends are beautiful. _Too_ beautiful. Not only that, they’re rare enough that even the most expensive florists in the nearby town don’t have anything resembling them, even during the grandest displays at the summer market, when traders gather from miles around to show off the best of their wares. He’s caught himself looking, more than once.

If it weren’t for the fact he keeps them in a vase in his workshop—safely away from the sight of most of his paying customers—they would probably have attracted attention from near and far. As it is, only his closest friends have seen the near-daily gifts Daichi receives. He plans to keep it that way. Whoever his soulmate is, they don’t send them for Daichi to make a fortune out of.

Still. They _do_ send them, and even if he has long since passed the acceptable point for returning such a kindness, it’s only going to get worse if he doesn’t do _something_. The nature of the flowers and their delivery by pegasus tells him that whoever it is lives far, far away—probably further even than Suga’s soulmate travels—so writing a message would most likely prove pointless. His penmanship is just about tolerable, but what are the chances that they even share a language? No, a gift akin to flowers would be best. Something which speaks for itself.

It would be easiest if Suga were right. If he’d been planning to send a carved pegasus, that would be fine. He’s got plenty of them, after all, and some of the most recent statuettes are almost acceptable for a gift of this magnitude. But it’s hard to imagine parting with one of them, and anyway, sending an echo of their soul animal just seems silly. It would be better by far to send something which tells his soulmate about _himself_ , or at least to offer something he’s reasonably sure they’ll like. And all he knows about his soulmate is that they apparently have access to the largest garden he can imagine, which blooms all the way from midsummer deep into the winter.

He could send flowers back of course, but they seem an inadequate gift, especially considering his abysmal gardening skills. What kind of message would _that_ send: a few battered blooms, wilting and crumpled even before they start their long journey to who-knows-where. He’s no gardener, and to _buy_ flowers, even though he could afford them, seems far too impersonal for something like this.

The vase with the latest offering sits on the dresser in his room as he sheds his work clothes for the evening, already more wilted than they had been that morning. Daichi wishes they lasted longer—certainly he knows flowers _should_ last longer. Asahi has said before that it’s probably due to the length of time they spend out of water before reaching him. Or rather, he’s hinted at it tentatively, trying to skirt the obvious implication: Daichi’s soulmate is so far away that flowers barely survive the journey. Farther than anyone else in the village. Farther than anyone else they’ve ever _heard of_.

It’s obvious that the prospect of this would be too much for Asahi, soft-hearted giant that he is. Daichi has never met someone as overwrought by the trivial dilemmas of other people. Fortunately, the idiot had the opposite of Daichi’s problem—he and his soulmate have known each other since childhood. Their sole obstacle to overcome was Asahi’s near-endless shyness.

For this reason, Daichi makes sure that he is armed with a generous supply of explanations as to why he is _not_ bothered about his own soulmate situation when he visits his friend for some advice.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t understand. You want to plant a garden?”

Daichi sighs. “No, I want to _borrow_ one. Yours, preferably. Just for a little while.”

Asahi stares at him blankly. At times like this, Daichi really can’t understand how anyone could possibly feel scared of him. And yet he has a reputation in the village as the fierce and intimidating man who tends to the manor gardens, and wields his tools with considerable menace. It’s a mystery how it all started.

“I want to try carving flowers,” Daichi says. He’s strung the poor man along enough; it’s time to throw him a bone. “I _could_ work from sketches I guess, but it’s not quite the same. And I’ll be carving a lot of them—for practice—so just buying some to put in a vase isn’t going to work.

Asahi nods, and then freezes, eyes widening. He looks up at Daichi and smiles. “Is this for your soulmate?”

Well, so much for subtlety. “What makes you think that?” he asks, filling his voice with as much bluster as he can.

Asahi raises his eyebrows, mouth twisting into a wry grin which Daichi honestly never thought the man capable of.

“Daichi,” he says, speaking slowly and almost warily, “Until your soulmate you never had the slightest interest in flowers. The only plants you cared about were trees, and I really think that’s just because of the wood. You’re…usually pretty single-minded you know.”

There are several things which Daichi could say in reply to that. He could deny it of course—but the warmth in his cheeks suggests that he’s already given himself away for once. He could, alternately, embrace the truth…and risk becoming the talk of the town. Gods, he’d never hear the end of it.

“Just don’t tell Suga, okay?” he settles on in the end. It’s a reasonable enough compromise. Suga’s a great friend after all—more or less everyone loves him—but honestly, there are some things he doesn’t need relentless teasing about, and this is one of them. It’s _soulmate_ stuff. Strange as it feels, it’s…it’s personal. Private. The closer to his heart he can keep it the better. Not least because he has no idea if it will even _achieve_ anything.

It’s bad enough telling Asahi, because that’s already one person worrying on his account. At least it’s a person who smiles with understanding, and promises to look the other way when Daichi shows up on the plot of land surrounding his cottage in the early mornings or late evenings.

“Although, most of the flowers have closed up at those times, so you’d be better off if you were here for full days now and then,” he says, frowning. “Gardens aren’t really at their best without sunlight, you know.”

It’s a compromise which Daichi is more than happy with, in all honesty. The season is warming and the sun is bright and crisp—perfect weather to set up a workbench outside and work on his endless repair jobs. It’s a welcome change to his stuffy workshop, and Asahi doesn’t mind the shavings. Apparently they’re actually _useful_ , and as something other than kindling, too. Daichi can’t say he envies the man his hard labour, but the fruits of it are worthwhile—so long as he isn’t downwind of the compost heap.

Asahi helps him to carry a workbench out into the garden, and on sunny days that’s where Daichi finds himself; carving flowers into the backs of a set of chairs as he re-secures the legs, and etching blossoms across a new set of window shutters for Takeda-sensei’s schoolhouse. It’s extra work, but well worth it for the delighted responses he gets.

There’s an audience which gathers to watch him work, too, far more so than would ever venture to his real workshop. Although Asahi’s cottage is every bit as outside the main thoroughfare of the village as his own, it’s on the side closest to the fields instead of butting up against woodland. A far more sturdy track with rudimentary paving runs along the edge of Asahi’s garden, coming up to the base of a drystone wall full of tiny plants and flowers. Some of the local youths have taken to leaning on it, watching as he planes the wood into the correct shape, and forms the joins between planks.

There are two regulars—boys he’d contemplated and dismissed as potential apprentices the year before—but plenty of others in the village loiter on their way past. The company is nice, especially during those times when Suga’s soulmate is home and the pair of them are holed up in the manor house leading lives of leisure.

Between planks for construction jobs in the village, and poles and handles for farming tools, Daichi whittles offcuts into rough shapes for later. The new feeding trough for Ukai-san’s horses ends up embellished with a pattern of leaves under the lip when he gets carried away thinking of a design. To repay Asahi for the loan of his garden, he carves a sign for his friend’s front door decorated with his favourite of the spring blooms. His apparently sudden obsession becomes the talk of the village; much to Suga’s delight, mixed with offence at being left out of the loop.

Daichi doesn’t mind the gossip, or the near-endless speculation as to what has spurred his interest. The pegasus visits early enough in the morning that so far, no one has seen it land outside his bedroom window. There are _some_ perks to his mother’s old cottage on the edge of the forest, at least.

He carves whole flowers on rainy days or in the evenings, cosy in his workshop. Irises and katakuri; chains of wisteria; clusters of azaleas—all grow out of branches too short or crooked to be turned into chair legs or shovel handles. He shapes his near-endless offcuts into individual flowers such as camellias and anemones, until there are enough that he can sell some at the summer market. To ward off boredom during a week of lonely evenings while his friends are busy with their soulmates, he carves cherry blossoms in relief along the edge of his table.

The earlier, rougher workings find themselves tucked among the pegasi in his cottage, but the better ones take pride of place around his workshop and the slightly smarter room where he speaks to such wealthy customers as exist in the village. It isn’t long before word gets around about his new ornaments.

A month after the equinox, Daichi finds himself with an increasing amount of company even on days when the weather confines him to his workshop: children who loiter outside, pointing in at the growing number of ornaments; mothers with babies who stop by to thank him for recent repairs and spend a few minutes walking around before leaving; the two otherwise troublesome boys who nonetheless manage to behave relatively well all the while they’re busily pointing out the latest additions.

As the season waxes towards midsummer, Daichi finds himself in high demand, both for the regular repairs he expects at this time of year, and for embellishments on furniture and tools that people in the village have begun to crave. It’s more labour which he scarcely has time to complete, but it’s relaxing in its own way. And it’s all good practice. By the equinox he feels confident enough to start carving in earnest: working at first by firelight, and then by the evening sun as the nights make their slow retreat.

Asahi offers his advice as to which flowers to pick, but in the end Daichi realises he can’t make up his mind at all. His eventual design means far more work, but after all this time, it’s the least he can do to make up for his silence. Each morning that the pegasus brings more flowers, Daichi gathers up the blooms and sets them inside vases and bowls he turned over the winter. Most of them are etched with engravings of his favourites, and stained to suggest the colours of the flowers they contain.

Beside them, night by night, their wooden counterparts begin to form. They might not be as interesting or exotic as the fresh blooms which arrive each day, but the local flowers are beautiful all the same. He’s determined to do them justice, and takes his time ensuring every detail is correct, from the size and shape of the flowers, to the colours of their petals and leaves which he suggests with stains and inks alike.

It’s not until the harvest draws near that he sets his tools down and looks over his gift, satisfied at last. With the passing of the seasons, he found more and more flowers to add to his creation. One or two aborted earlier attempts rest on his corner bench, but at last there are no more additions, no more rough edges to sand smooth. No more inks or polish to rub into the wood.

In raw value, it can’t possibly compete with more than a year’s worth of exotic fresh flowers, but he hopes it will go some way to making up for his long, long silence. It’s a gift from his heart, at the very least. And far better than nothing at all.

 

* * *

 

It’s early. _Really_ early, and Daichi is halfway convinced he’s woken up in the middle of the night. Certainly he’s done that often enough recently. Tossing and turning in his bed as he struggles to sleep past the nagging fear that he’s making a mistake. It’s been too long. He should let it lie. Why risk upsetting the balance when things have carried on so well all this time?

He doesn’t _need_ to do this. Maybe his soulmate is quite happy just sending flowers off into the unknown. Maybe they’re similarly content with their life, and don’t want a reminder of the person they are too far away from to ever reasonably meet?

But the gift is made, now. Daichi can’t wait forever. Aside from anything else, if this is going to change something, it might as well be now. While he’s still young, with plenty of directions his life could take him in. While he doesn’t have years’ worth of potential regret. He’s read all the stories about the lovers heralded by pegasi. Almost all the great tragedies seem to feature them. All the great romances, too—as Suga has repeatedly pointed out—but there’s no denying the fact that if something _could_ go wrong with a soulmate pair, chances are there’s a story about it happening to someone with a pegasus for a soul animal. Of the near-countless forms that soul animals take, pegasi are one of the most infamous that way.

But the stars are fading as Daichi rolls out of bed and splashes cool water over his face, and that means he’s actually woken up on time. Now isn’t the moment for talking himself out of it. The wooden bouquet sits on the windowsill. Even in the fading starlight, he can make out the hints of pink and white from the carved cherry blossoms.

He walks softly to the window itself, wondering if he’s beaten the pegasus for once. It’s there already though, quietly eating the oats he set out for it the evening before. Still, there’s confirmation that he has woken early: the gift from his soulmate is nestled carefully in the space between the animal’s wings. He can’t imagine how they stayed in place while it was flying.

 _Magic_ , he tells himself. _If a pegasus can somehow know who my soulmate is, and fly between us each and every night despite how far apart we must be, I can’t really be surprised that it manages to carry a few flowers all this way._

He looks down at the carving he’s spent months working on. That’s going to be a lot heavier to carry back.

The pegasus nickers softly as he clambers out of the window, but aside from a brief shake of its head and a stamping of its hooves, it doesn’t seem troubled by his approach. Daichi leaves the carving on the windowsill for a moment and simply walks over to stroke the animal. It really is beautiful—the most perfect creature he’s ever seen.

“Hi there,” he murmurs, running his fingers through its mane. The hair is smooth and soft. Far smoother than he had expected, given the horses he’s interacted with in the village. Then again, it is a mystical creature. Magical. It seems oddly right that it should feel so otherworldly.

The pegasus lifts its head and sniffs at his shirt, blinking slowly. It huffs gently and lowers its wings, proffering the flowers nestled between its shoulders.

“Thank you,” Daichi says, taking them with a bow. “Thank you for _every_ gift. I know I’ve been slow in doing this, but…if it’s not too much trouble, I have something I would like you to take in return.”

For an animal—even a soul animal—to regard him with such an intelligent expression is somewhat unnerving. It stares straight past him after a moment, looking at the carved branch. At the profusion of wooden flowers. It blinks once more, with agonising slowness…then lowers its head to continue eating from the bowl of oats.

Daichi takes a step back. Apparently this is where the horse-like nature of his soul animal is asserting itself.

Only when every last grain is gone does the pegasus acknowledge his request. It shakes itself out, stretching its wings into the brightening sky, and rears back on its hind hooves. Daichi presses himself against the wall, but there’s no anger or distress in the creature’s movements. Instead, it whinnies and shakes. Somehow, it seems more like the actions of an animal having a stretch than a horse rearing up out of fright. When it settles back onto its front hooves, it takes a few steps forward and headbutts him gently in the stomach.

Daichi stares. This close, the pegasus’ coat is pure white, so pure it almost seems to glow. The eyes are gold like the sun, flecked with silvery-blue.

Suddenly, his fears and concerns about _how_ it will carry his gift seem stupid. All he has to do is look at the thing: it’s brimming with intelligence and power. Its eyes bore straight through him, chasing away the last of his doubts. He manages a smile, faint with awe. How _did_ he get lucky enough to have a pegasus for a soul animal? It feels like a gift which is far too great, far too grand. He’s just…just _Daichi_ , after all. Just a carpenter in a small village on the coast.

The pegasus nudges his stomach again, and Daichi exhales sharply, half-laughing.

“Alright, alright,” he says, smiling. “I won’t keep you waiting. I guess you’ve got a pretty long journey ahead of you.”

He lays the wooden bough between the animal’s shoulder blades. But it looks awkward there, as though it will chafe, so he lifts it down again and pulls off his shirt. It’s not too cold, even at this early hour.

“Forgive me if this scratches a little, but it should be more comfortable than all those wooden petals,” he says, wrapping the fabric around the carving and settling it back down.

As he steps back, he can’t help but think it looks a little like a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes. He hopes his soulmate has a sense of humour, or at least doesn’t panic before seeing what the gift really is.

The pegasus raises its wings and catches the first light of the sun. Gold spills down its feathers as it leaps skyward and gallops away into the air, spiralling up and up until it’s just a speck of light which twinkles until it vanishes from sight altogether.

Daichi sighs, stroking his chin and wincing at the stubble. He hopes he’s doing the right thing. How exactly are you meant to…to _court_ someone you’ve never met and know practically nothing about, anyway? The doubts which had seemed so foolish just moments before come flooding back without the calming presence of his soul animal to soothe them away.

 _Too late now_ , he tells himself. And surely, after a year of sending flowers almost every day, his soulmate won’t be angered that he replied?

 

* * *

 

Daichi loses himself in work to distract from the nagging concern in his gut. There’s still a lot of it, after all—both work _and_ worry. But it’s harder to focus on the latter when he’s up to his elbows in sawdust, and that has to be a good thing.

He has a long day ahead of him with preparations for the harvest festivities, too. Fencing off half the commons for a party isn’t a simple matter, but it’s always seemed worthwhile. Everyone enjoys a party, after all, and this year there’s plenty to celebrate. Yachi has returned from her long pilgrimage to the north, bringing with her a tall, beautiful woman who it’s plain to see is her soulmate, even if neither of them speak much on the subject.

Come to think of it, Shimizu doesn’t seem to speak at _all_ , although Daichi can’t say he blames her for the shyness. She’s had a fair travel to be with Yachi, leaving behind her fishing village in the far north. At least, he _thinks_ that’s what Yachi said. The young woman has always suffered with nerves, and tends to speak in a flurry of words and stammering which only gets more jumbled when her soulmate is mentioned. Still, the two of them are so obviously in love that Daichi can’t feel anything other than genuine happiness for them—mixed with a healthy amount of relief that Yachi has returned in one piece after spending more than a full year travelling.

His gift for them is a change from what has become his usual sort of carving; a set of window shutters for their bedroom adorned with all manner of things from the sea. Yachi has never mentioned which animal connects them, but the amount of time she’s spent walking along the shore over the years suggests it’s a seagoing creature much like Suga’s. Working on it had set him back with the bouquet of wooden flowers by a few days, but there’s no question in his mind that it’s worth it.

The focus on the two gifts has definitely left him with a lot of last-minute preparations, however, and it’s this which he busies himself with for the whole day, scarcely even noticing who stops by his workshop to watch as he sands down logs for the makeshift benches, and finishes making the last of the wooden pegs which will hold the lanterns up around the village. It’s only when Suga appears at his side, nagging him to eat, that he realises it’s almost sundown and he hasn’t stopped for a break in hours.

“Honestly Daichi, you’re working yourself into the ground,” Suga remarks, arms folded. “Just suck it up and take on an apprentice. You _know_ you’ve had an audience for months now. Pick one of them and have done.”

Daichi snorts. “That’s easy for _you_ to say,” he says, shaking the sawdust from his clothes and smiling as Suga darts backwards with an indignant squawk. “You’re not the one who’ll have to _teach_ someone. In all honesty, I wouldn’t know where to start. It’s easier just to carry on as I am, really it is.”

Suga doesn’t look all that convinced, but they’ve had this conversation before, and Daichi is well-versed in the art of not being beaten into submission by his friend—be that figuratively _or_ literally. After a few more pointed remarks Suga backs down, and concedes there is at least a _chance_ that Daichi knows what he’s talking about.

 

* * *

 

It’s late when Daichi gets to sleep, and already light when he wakes the next morning. A steady rain is falling outside. He staggers over to the window and pulls back the shutters while still rubbing sleep from his eyes, and yelps with dismay. There’s a ceramic pot containing a bedraggled plant waiting for him, wrapped with what looks like a _very_ expensive bit of linen, and it’s sitting out there getting soaked.

He vaults through the window, grimacing as his bare feet sink into the springy turf. The ground is _cold_ , and wet, and the grass tickles his toes as he darts across it to retrieve the gift.

The pegasus is long gone. In this weather, he can’t blame it. The ground is sodden, and when he looks down at the food tray attached to his wall, he can see that his soul animal didn’t even linger long enough to nose through the oats he’d set out. At least they ought to keep until the next morning. He’d built a little box to shield the tray from inclement weather the previous winter, after waking two days in a row to find that the oats had turned to a sort of watery porridge.

Getting back indoors through the window is not without its hazards—his floor is well waxed and looked after, so he skids a little as he lands on wet and muddy feet—but it’s not long before he manages to get himself into some clean and dry clothes. Once he gets the fire going in his kitchen he can even examine the ceramic pot and the material which has been wound around it. It’s not stained by the water, fortunately, because it’s _very_ fine linen, even more so than most of Suga’s shirts. It’s decorated with a beautiful repeating leaf pattern along its length, in a style which is ornate and intricate, and utterly alien to him.

 _Far, far away,_ he thinks ruefully. Is this a hint at the sort of life his soulmate leads? Daichi has always suspected that they’re a wealthy individual, but that they’re able to give such a gift seems to confirm it beyond a doubt. He’s not sure how to feel about the information.

It’s certainly not the way he would usually prefer to get to know someone, after all. He was fast friends with both Suga and Asahi long before he really understood their relative positions in the village. Having only these snippets about someone who is supposed to be his soulmate feels…well, it feels rather back to front, at the very least.

 _At least it’s probably a sign that they liked the flowers_ , he thinks. And there’s the faintest trace of an exotic scent lingering in the fabric which intrigues him. What kind of life does his soulmate lead? It’s odd, perhaps, that it’s taken so long for him to really wonder about it, but then it’s taken more than a year for him to have something which won’t wilt and fade within a few days. Whatever the plant is—and he doesn’t need to be Asahi to know that it’s far from the sort of thing which grows anywhere he’s actually heard of—it’s clearly well-established within its pot.

When it’s dry, Daichi folds the material carefully and tucks it in a drawer beside his bed, right beside the pressed flowers his soulmate first sent him. Even if he never gets to know anything more about them, it’s a beautiful gift to have been given, surely? There’s no way that he could gracefully complain about it, even if he wanted to.

His sole regret is the length of time it spent in the mud. That faint trace of spices was probably far stronger when it was first set down, and it’s hard not to feel that he’s missed an opportunity of some kind. Was it something his soulmate wore, akin to the shirt he wrapped his carving in? It’s too late to find out. All he can do is hope that he can be more prompt in waking should he get another gift of this kind.

There’s no real time for him to stew on the matter at least: the harvest festival will go ahead despite the rain which continues to fall. After all, the harvest itself is safely gathered, and that’s something worth celebrating. The rain can fall in earnest; it matters not a jot. In fact, it’s all the more reason to build the fires higher and sing louder throughout the evening, chasing away the chill of the growing autumn night.

Yachi and Shimizu are delighted with their gift, and Daichi promises to stop by the cottage which they share with Yachi’s mother soon, so that he can replace the old shutters. He makes an offer to extend the place come the following spring, although Yachi is strangely cagey about his offer, telling him they’ll have to think about it. He supposes it’s fair enough, after a while. Yachi’s mother probably wouldn’t be that fond of the noise and mess, after all, and she’s the one who owns the little building out on the promontory.

He’s late to bed again that night, having not mentioned the potted plant or the material to either Suga or Asahi. It can wait for a less busy day. By the time he collapses into bed, the moon is high and he is exhausted enough to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

There’s a rattling at his shutters, waking him. It’s all he can really do to peel his eyes open, but he manages it anyway, stumbling out of bed as crookedly as if he were still drunk from the celebrations the night before. As if he weren’t suffering from a hangover which makes the rattle altogether too loud for his comfort.

The pegasus waits outside his window, regarding him with steady, level eyes. It shoves its face towards him, managing to headbutt him through the window. In its mouth is one of the most exquisite flowers Daichi has ever seen in his life.

When he looks past the pegasus to the grass, he’s so surprised his legs almost give way beneath him. There are flowers _everywhere_ , all over the small meadow outside his window—scattered in halfway neat piles here and there where they must have fallen from the pegasus’ back. It’s almost a miracle that they haven’t been trampled.

His soul animal bows its head, and whinnies gently. He sets the flower in his hand down on the windowsill and clambers through, wrapping both arms tightly about the creature’s neck and burying his face in its mane.

“I don’t have anything to send,” he mutters. “I don’t even know what I _could_ send. This is…this is incredible.”

Letting go, Daichi takes a step back, careful to watch his footing. What will he _do_ with them all? He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and shaking his head.

“So should I take it from this that they liked my gift?” he says brightly. “You know more about them than me.”

The pegasus snorts, and leans forward to headbutt him gently in the stomach before shaking its head, rearing up on its hind legs, and stretching out its wings. Flowers tumble over one another from the back-draft as they beat downward and the animal leaps into the air.

Daichi smiles wonderingly as its wings glint and shine in the morning sunlight. He’s still smiling as it vanishes to a twinkling speck in the morning air; as he gathers up the enormous mound of flowers; as he runs out of vases and bowls and has to wrap the leftovers in damp towels while he runs to his workshop to fetch some buckets.

He’s busy that day with both work and visitors. Rumours about his soul animal have been circulating around the village for months now, despite its early visits meaning that—so far as he can tell—no one else has actually _seen_ it. But there are so many flowers that it’s impossible to hide them all, and frankly, it seems disrespectful to try. His soulmate meant them as a gift, and Daichi is no miser. It would be a crime to let them wilt away in dusty corners of his cottage, particularly when they are capable of bringing such joy to the village.

By mid-morning his workshop has attracted a crowd, and the only reason he manages to get anything done is that Asahi shows up to gaze in wonder at the flowers. There are times, Daichi muses, when the village’s collective misinterpretation of Asahi’s retiring nature can be a good thing after all.

“What are they?” he asks, as his workshop clears. Asahi has been captivated by them since he arrived, staring with an intensity which, Daichi has to admit, borders on unsettling.

“Well, this one’s an orchid I think,” Asahi says, pointing to a cluster of delicate white and purple flowers. “I’ve never seen orchids which look quite like it though. I’ve never seen even _half_ of these kinds of flowers before.” He shrugs, helplessly. “We…we knew your soulmate comes from a long way away, but…”

Daichi walks over and claps a hand on Asahi’s shoulder. “Hey. Stop wobbling that bottom lip of yours,” he says. “It’s not news, remember? Like you said, I knew as much before.” He sighs. “I just wish I knew what to do with them. It seems an awful waste.”

Asahi looks round at the assortment of vases, bowls, buckets and cups which Daichi has tucked his soulmate’s gift into. “I don’t think there’s anything more you _can_ do with them, really,” he says softly. “They’re beautiful, but flowers don’t last forever.”

Daichi nods. After over a year of watching his soulmate’s gifts wilt and die, it’s something he knows all too well. He thinks of the pot sitting on the table in his cottage and smiles. Perhaps that’s why his soulmate sent him a plant which will live.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, there are no flowers to greet him when he wakes. The pegasus stands alone upon the grass, tossing its mane in the morning breeze and watching him regally as he tries to conceal his slight disappointment. It’s already eaten the small bowl of oats he set out, and it waits patiently while he climbs out of the window and approaches.

“Good morning,” he says, bowing. He reaches out and runs his hand along its neck, letting his fingers comb through the dazzling mane. “Used up all their flowers already, did they? It’s alright. I’m honoured that you waited for me to wake up, to be honest. That’s a long way to travel just for a few oats and a greeting.”

The pegasus nickers, and turns to press its head against Daichi’s shoulder. It backs up, and once again gently butts its head against his chest before rearing up on its wings and taking to the air. Daichi can’t help smiling as it leaves. It truly is a marvel, after all.

With the harvest festival over, his workload has lightened. It’s quiet in his workshop, and cosier than ever with all the flowers. Daichi takes the closest vase and pulls it closer while he eats his midday meal, turning it slowly so he can look at its contents from every angle. They’re beautiful, they really are.

Perhaps his next gift ought to be a carving of his soulmate’s flowers, so they can have copies which never fade away? If nothing else, the practice attempts should give him his own to keep. Yes. It’s something to work on over the winter at least, on the long and chilly nights when larger work becomes impossible. Flowers this beautiful deserve to be remembered, and with luck his soulmate will appreciate the time which will go into carving replicas of the plants which they have sent so many of.

Daichi sleeps well that night, comforted by the plan he has settled on, and the relief of actually _having_ one. So when he wakes in the morning and there are, once again, no flowers waiting for him, it’s a little harder to maintain his smile for the pegasus which waits outside.

Still, he _does_ smile, because surely it can only be called greediness to want more flowers when just two days before he had more that he rightfully knew what to do with—more than he still knows what to do with, in fact. And there have been gaps in his soulmate’s gifts before. He can’t complain. He _mustn’t_ complain.

That day, he takes the freshest of the flowers remaining from the giant gift and sets them in a press in the corner of his workshop. It’s an odd compulsion, but something about the contrast between the flood of blooms and the two days with nothing have him spooked, and naturally Asahi is no help on that front.

“I’m sure it’s fine Daichi,” he says, helping to lay the plants out on a plank of wood ready to be pressed. “They’re probably…maybe they’re sick, you know? Not—nothing serious, obviously! Just enough to stop them picking flowers for you.”

Daichi frowns at him. “I don’t need comforting, Asahi,” he says. The frown lifts as something occurs to him, and he grins across the room at his friend. “Wait, are you trying to convince me or _yourself_ about this? You great crybaby, stop getting so worked up about it all! It’s fine, you’ll see.”

But as the days go by and no more flowers arrive, Daichi can’t help but start to worry in earnest too. It’s not so much that he needs the gifts, although after more than a year of being given flowers each day, he has to admit that he’s gotten a touch spoilt. His house seems empty without the vases of exotic blooms to liven it up. The potted plant is green and living, but if it _does_ flower then Daichi has no idea what time of year those buds will appear, or what they will look like when they do.

Still, what really concerns him is the implication behind the gifts’ absence. Why did his soulmate stop? Why _now?_ Was it something he did? Was his carving a mistake?

Or worse, did something happen to them?

Asahi’s notion of their being sick lodges in his head until Suga shows up at his workshop one morning with an entirely false smile on his face, and drags him down to the ocean shore.

“It’s high tide,” he announces needlessly, as they wait by the churning waves on a rocky outcrop. Suga stares out to sea as he speaks, half in a daydream by the looks of it.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Daichi replies.

“Oh, shut up Daichi,” Suga says, poking him hard between the ribs. “I _mean_ , the hippocampus should be here soon. You should take a look.”

Daichi clears his throat. “Suga, why do I need to look at your soul animal? I’ve seen it before, and it’s…it’s wonderful, certainly, and I can understand why you care about it, but—”

“Just _wait_ , will you!” Suga cries, poking him again. “You really think I hauled you all this way just to snoop on my visit without some kind of reason? I…Oh, here it is!”

There’s a rushing of water which falls out of sequence with the waves crashing against the shore, and when Daichi looks he can see foaming bubbles rushing towards them. A horse leaps free from the spray—or the front half of a horse, at least. Its rear half twists and thrashes in the water, and just as when he first saw it, Daichi is hard pressed to say if it’s _actually_ a tail like a fish, or if it’s somehow part of the ocean itself. The foam and spray make it impossible to see.

Without warning Suga flings himself off of the rocks, calling out joyfully even as Daichi yelps with surprise. Dear _gods_ , how does he always manage to forget how reckless his friend can be? The hippocampus surges forward, somehow getting between Suga and the boiling sea before he’s dashed to pieces, and the pair of them race around the bay together, Suga’s laughter just about audible over the rush and crash of the waves on the shore.

By the time they return to the rocky outcrop where Daichi is stood, shivering slightly from the wind and seaspray which has soaked his feet completely, he’s about ready to head home. At least Suga has the decency to look a little sheepish as his soul animal comes to a halt by the rocks, and leans forward so that Suga can safely scramble onto comparatively dry land.

“So, there’s a reason for you trying to give me a heart attack too, is there?” Daichi asks, arms folded.

“Ahh, sorry Daichi,” Suga replies, grinning. There isn’t a trace of regret in that smile. “I suppose I just got a bit carried away. He’s sick, you see.”

“Your soul animal? I didn’t know that could—”

“No, no, not my—I mean Satori! _He’s_ sick.”

Daichi raises his eyebrows. “But Satori’s been at sea for weeks now,” he says. “How do you know that? And why in the name of any god listening does that give you a reason to throw yourself in the water?”

Suga’s too busy kneeling down on the rock and reaching out to stroke the mane of his soul animal to reply for a few minutes. It’s not until the hippocampus rears back into the water and brays loudly that he looks up, and then it’s only briefly to offer Daichi a smile.

“I can just tell,” he says, looking back out to sea. The hippocampus plunges beneath the water and doesn’t surface again until it’s halfway across the bay. It neighs once more, rearing up onto whatever hindquarters it actually has. When it races out to sea, it leaves behind a foaming, frothing wake which slowly washes its way towards the rocky shore.

Suga stands up, shaking water from his hair. “Can’t you tell what mood your pegasus is in?” he asks. “If your soulmate is unhappy, the pegasus ought to pick up on it somehow. They can’t _talk_ , sure, but you’re not telling me they can’t communicate at all. When I brought you down here before, was my soul animal as clingy as it was today?”

Daichi frowns again, not least of all because he’s been sprayed with even _more_ seawater from Suga shaking himself off like a dog. “Suga, there’s no way I know your soul animal well enough to tell what mood it’s in. I barely feel as though I know my _own_. Not all of us have been acquainted since we were children.”

“Urgh, you mean I could have just left you behind and told you about my visit later?” Suga asks, shivering. He grabs the coat which Daichi offers him and wraps himself inside it, nodding his thanks. “I hurried back for nothing! Still. Normally, when I get a visit, it takes a while for him to get up close like that. They don’t like the shore all that much you know. The only time it rushes to see me is when something’s wrong with Satori. It needs the reassurance, you see? My grandfather used to say that there’s lots of evidence of soul animals showing distress when their humans are sick or endangered.”

“If you keep pulling stunts like that, _you’ll_ be the one who’s sick and endangered,” Daichi says, folding his arms. “The sea’s freezing at this time of year.”

He thinks back, though, over the last year and a half of visits. Were there times when the pegasus seemed more flighty than usual? Unsettled perhaps? Not recently, at least. In fact, over the last few days it’s seemed more relaxed and friendly than it ever has.

That reassures him, at least. And could he _really_ have expected his soulmate to keep sending flowers every day for the rest of their lives? It was always too much to hope for, if he’s honest with himself. Surely it’s only natural that they would need to take a break every so often—and perhaps that’s even what their ridiculously extravagant gift _was_.

Either way, he can’t and won’t try to force his soulmate’s hand. It’s just as they say in all the old songs—there’s no changing fate. All he can do is wait and see what kind of future he’ll have.

 

* * *

 

The first snows fall before Daichi works up the courage to send another gift to his soulmate. There have been no more flowers delivered for him, and while Daichi can’t help but feel concern at just how long this break is lasting, he knows in his heart that he’s received far more than he’s ever given. It’s past time for him to redress that imbalance.

With winter’s approach, he finally has the time to set to carving in earnest again, freed from some of the more onerous obligations. He works by firelight, shaping odds and ends to try and replicate some of his favourite gifts. After months of practice carving flowers, it’s a little frustrating when his first attempts at the less familiar shapes end in splintered failure, but once he gets past that false start he ends up with something he can justify sending.

It’s one of his favourite of the flowers his soulmate has sent. An orchid of some sort by Asahi’s reckoning, but with bright, yellow-orange petals instead of the pinkish-purple of the local ones which Asahi tends to at the manor house.

Daichi manages to suggest at some of the colour with inks, but there truly isn’t anything as vivid as the real thing. He hopes his soulmate will appreciate it, even so.

The orchids he’s received have always been cut flowers, tucked in amongst others which presumably are less challenging to grow, but Daichi can’t help but feel impatient, so he carves two as pendants rather than try to fabricate another bouquet. It’s a crisp, frosty morning when he hands them over to the pegasus, sending whatever best wishes his soul animal can convey. Past that, there’s nothing he can really do except wait and see what happens.

Nothing happens.

Although the pegasus still waits outside his window most mornings—less so now that the winter weather is closing in around the village—it is always unaccompanied. As days turn to weeks, and Midwinter comes and passes, Daichi realises with a sinking feeling in his gut that he might have the answer to how his life will pan out from here. It’s better to make his peace with it, and besides, there are certainly worse fates.

As he’s said before, and calmly repeats each time Suga or Asahi skirt around the subject, he could never consider himself _truly_ alone in the village. He has far too many good friends for that. He’s always felt loved and wanted, and really, what more could anyone ever ask for?

His hands tell a different story in the evenings, perhaps, but the nights are grown short and the inevitable round of repairs can’t begin until the spring arrives, so it’s not surprising that he returns to whittling flowers by the fireplace to while away the hours. Flowers both native and exotic take shape in his hands, and start to fill the empty vases around his cottage. Now and then he changes pace by sculpting pegasi, or engraving petals and leaves across the surfaces of most of the cabinets and other wooden fixtures in his home.

The winter is long but not lonely, and when the warmer weather arrives, Daichi is lost in work. He makes countless wooden pegs to secure new roof tiles, and helps to re-caulk the fishing boats which supply the village with food. Fences are repaired and replaced, and against expectation he finds himself with something of an apprentice in the quiet but hardworking Ennoshita, a youth he had always previously assumed had no interest in the work.

And really, he’s too _busy_ to lose himself to sadness, as the months pass by with no more word or gifts from his soulmate. The pegasus seems content enough with its oats and the gentle combing he gives its mane, and all the while that’s the case it has to mean his soulmate is as well, surely? To know that they’re safe is enough to ask for. Besides, he has his pressed flowers, the strip of embroidered fabric, and a plant which, although it shows no signs of flowering, adds a touch of colour to his chilly cottage with its long green leaves and reddish ceramic pot.

As the weather warms, and the merchants start to pass by on their way to the bigger towns, somehow word gets out about Daichi’s flowers.

For a few days the village is inundated with curious busybodies from neighbouring villages, and even a party of finely-clad merchants from the town itself. Everyone wants to see them, and he’s bombarded with questions about why he started carving so many kinds of flowers, and what the more exotic ones are. He’s grateful to both Suga and his new apprentice for helping him to field the constant visitors and allow him to get some work done. Certainly he can’t ever remember the workshop being this busy. Not even when he was just a boy, watching his late father barter with merchants and important people from places near and far.

Still, the nine day wonder wears off after a while, and by the time the cherry blossoms have faded and fallen he’s just plain old Daichi again; busy with simple but important tasks all around the village. It’s a little more work having an apprentice this year, but less than he’d really expected, and there’s no denying that the company is nice. The Sugawara family have finally gotten round to insisting their second son actually _marry_ his soulmate this year, so Suga is busy most of the time with preparations. Asahi is too, working long hours in the manor gardens to ensure the wedding feast is both plentiful and beautiful.

The months roll by, days settling into a pattern which is familiar and comfortable, if a little bittersweet at times. Daichi learns to wake at sunrise no matter how early it arrives, greeting the pegasus and reassuring himself that whatever his soulmate is doing with their far distant life, at least they seem to be in good health.

It’s not quite the life he had envisaged for himself when he was a boy, but then how many people ever _do_ get the futures they’ve wished for? And he’s healthy, and surrounded by good friends, and all in all that’s a much happier ending than many of the songs about those visited by a pegasus. When he’d first seen those hoofprints, two years earlier, he’d known straight away that this was a likely outcome. That he’s had such a generous window into his distant soulmate’s life can only be considered a blessing.

Midsummer draws near, and the preparations for Suga’s wedding go into full swing. Daichi is glad for Ennoshita’s help as the work mounts up, and up, and long hours leave him little time to add to the wooden garden which his cottage has started to resemble.

Certainly, without an apprentice it would have been impossible to keep his wedding gift a secret. It takes shape over the course of two months, carefully concealed under sacking until the day of the wedding itself. It’s the first time Daichi has carved a soul animal other than his own, but the front half of the hippocampus isn’t so dissimilar to that of the pegasus which visits him each night. Rather than guess at the tail, he carves it rearing up out of the ocean itself, waves cresting over its body. It takes centre place at the wedding feast, and Suga later confesses being so delighted that he didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or _punch_ Daichi when he found the engraved message underneath proclaiming that here, at last, is a sculpture Suga gets to keep.

 

* * *

 

The season marches on, crops ripening in the fields, and Daichi finds himself preparing for more festivities. He can’t help but feel bittersweet about the harvest celebrations. It marks a full year since he last heard from his soulmate in any sense other than the pegasus still visiting each morning. In that time, he’s sent a few more flowers, and even a little carving of the pegasus itself, but there’s never a gift in return. He hopes that wherever his soulmate is, they’re happy. Hopes that their life is as good as it can be. What else can he do, after all?

With the crops stowed away, Daichi returns to carving flowers by growing firelit nights. The potted plant from his soulmate is thriving—so much so that it has budded off miniature versions of itself which Asahi supplies additional pots for. The living green leaves make a vibrant contrast to the wooden flowers which surround them. Where once his mother’s old cottage was an isolated corner of the village, seldom visited, these days he finds himself with regular passers by, all keen to peek through the windows and see the strange garden which remains in full bloom even as the leaves outside turn to gold and fall.

Daichi smiles as children race along the path to peek on tiptoe over the windowsills. Somehow, even from so far away, his soulmate has managed to change his life completely.

“There’s a new one today,” he calls to them, waving as he locks his front door. “See if you can find it.”

The sound of excited voices clamouring to see follows him as he makes his way down the path to his workshop. It’s frosty this morning, and the pegasus didn’t linger long. Perhaps he should make a _proper_ shelter for it. Something to shield it from the wind and rain.

He’s lost in plans as he reaches the workshop, greeting Ennoshita with a distracted smile before fetching down a sheet of paper and some charcoal so that he can sketch out designs. At this time of year, the work is of a sort which Ennoshita can manage—last minute repairs to fences and shutters, as the village braces itself for the first winter storms.

It’s some time after the midday meal, and he’s making plans for the logs he will need to create the shelter’s frame when Ennoshita fetches him from the storage shed at the rear of the workshop, saying that there are some important-looking customers for him.

Daichi sends Ennoshita to pacify them while he brushes off the worst of the sawdust. Suga continually despairs at the lack of care Daichi puts into his appearance when dealing with wealthier clients, but as he’s always said, it’s a _work_ shop. If people want a carpenter who looks as though they didn’t do anything themselves, they’ve come to the wrong place. At least Asahi always backs him up there, saying it’s the same with gardeners. Not all trades involve clean respectability.

‘Respectable’ is certainly the word he would use to describe his three visitors though. Two are seated at the small bench and table his father constructed for merchant customers, dressed in expensive clothing and wearing sturdy boots whose cleanliness suggests they have mostly been worn on horseback or indoors. By their body language he supposes them to be close, although only one wears clothes in a style he recognises. The other, a handsome, brown-haired man, wears clothes in a foreign cut, dyed with bright colours and covered in rich embroidery. Even at a glance, Daichi can sense that he’s the sort of of man who is used to commanding attention.

Still, it’s the third man who Daichi can’t help but focus on. He’s standing and examining some of the sculptures in the room, dressed in the same unfamiliar fashion. With his back to the room he hasn’t seen Daichi enter, and reaches out to trace the contours of a wooden pegasus lightly with one finger.

Ennoshita steps forward to make the usual request that patrons not touch the statuette, but Daichi puts out a hand and stops him. He clears his throat.

“C-can I help you?” he asks.

The man looks up sharply, briefly glancing across at his companions before staring at Daichi intently, greenish-brown eyes wide. He has short, spiky black hair and a clean-shaven face which gives little of his emotions away, and beneath the many layers of clothes he’s wearing it’s almost impossible to tell what sort of build he has.

The black-haired man in local dress says something in a foreign tongue. _Translating_ , Daichi realises in wonder. Can it really be? He wants so badly to be right about who this is, but how? How is it possible?

“Sawamura Daichi,” he says, pointing to himself and bowing. “Daichi.” Never mind waiting for the interpreter to be their go-between, this man has captivated him since he entered the room. He has to know who he is _now_.  

“Daichi,” the man replies, eyes lighting up with the most beautiful smile Daichi has ever seen. It transforms his whole face, softening the faint frown lines between his brows. With a calloused hand he reaches up to the high neckline of his clothes, and pulls out a pendant on a long leather cord. His hand shakes a little as he holds it for everyone to see.

There, resting on his palm, is a small wooden camellia flower.

**Author's Note:**

> Big, _big_ thanks to [sondeneige](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sondeneige) and [hobbit_hedgehog](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbit_hedgehog) for beta reading and helping me tweak the final scene. It made such a difference having some outside opinions for it!
> 
> I had originally planned to write a companion piece telling the other half of this story to go out at roughly the same time, but unfortunately my health got in the way and I haven't been able to manage it. Fear not, though! It's very much on my to-do list, because it's a story I really want to tell, along with a couple of other stories which get referenced in Daichi's story. I got a little (okay maybe a lot) carried away with this AU. 
> 
> And, as ever, peeps are more than welcome to message me on [Tumblr](http://tottwritesfanfic.tumblr.com/) if they want to talk about this or any of my other fics!


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